If you can stomach one more Jolie anecdote, we’ve had to give her six pills today. Nick quicky came to understand my extreme frustration during her bout of gastroenteritis, since I had put him in charge of this new endeavor. After about the third time she spit out a pill while devouring the treat that came with it, he looked nearly ready to blow. When she did it again this evening, though, he only hesitated for a second. Scooping the pill up off the floor, he dunked it into his wineglass, fished it back out, and offered it to her again. After a startled sniff, she ate it cheerfully.
It was a sedative. Now I’m worried about both of them.
We’re sedating the dog in preparation for her grand adventure tomorrow, when we load her into her sleeping crate and don’t let her out again for about twelve hours, or whatever. I’m not really clear on why we had to start the sedation 24 hours in advance, but I’ve given up on getting straight answers from out vet. Not on pestering him with questions, never that–but I am aware that medical culture is different here, and I am working on being okay with being handed a vial of pills, told to do something ridiculous with them, and then sent on my way.
It’s getting really close now. I realized it yesterday in a way that I previously hadn’t, largely because I spent the entire late afternoon staring obsessively at the little jewelry bag with our wedding rings in it. In those hours I didn’t care what my hair would look like, how the cake will taste, who sits where, or if I ever get to wear the dress…I just wanted to put the ring on.
It’s probably just as well, then, that we held off so long on buying the rings. In fact, I didn’t actually go shopping until Thursday afternoon, armed with nothing but Nick’s ring size (more or less) and my mother’s warning that I would have to ask to see the wedding bands, since jewelry stores tend not to display them.
Here, of course, I will insert a shameless plug for Sténa, at 4 rue La Fayette–they barely flinched when I explained my absurd time frame. They were even nicer when I tried to switch at the last minute to a more complex band. In fact, the owner felt so bad at not being able to alter that one in time that he gave me a discount on my original choice. Wonderful people; they made it almost seem normal that we’d gotten through eight months of wedding planning without having run this rather critical errand.
There is a pile of suitcases in the living room, and a taxi booked. And a sleepy dog and a snippy couple in a very, very clean house, because we cleaned between arguing over how much room was left for whose what in which suitcase.
Is this what it always feels like just before you jump?